


Bowls of Soup

by Endangered_Slug



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Brotp, F/M, Sometimes you have self esteem issues even though you're the most powerful person in town okay?, Wingman David, Woobieness strikes again, sheep boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-12 11:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2108169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Endangered_Slug/pseuds/Endangered_Slug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part two of Desperate Souls (now with 100% more woobie). Mr. Gold and David go to the Rabbit Hole on a quest to find female companionship. It goes about as well as you'd expect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As it says on the tin, this is the second part of Desperate Souls. I have a third chapter (Another one?? Yes!) halfway written.

The Rabbit Hole was smoky and dank with a tang of sour beer on the air. David squeezed past the dock workers huddled together near the dart board and made his way to the bar, which was mostly populated with mill workers huddled over their beers with heavy shoulders. He ordered a draft from the bored-looking bartender and leaned against the bar so he could keeping an eye on the door. Casual. Cool. Not at all anticipating the prettiest woman in all of Storybrooke. In all of Maine. Just chilling with his beer and hanging with—

 

Damn.

 

There was no sign of Mr. Gold yet and David felt a wave of relief bubble up from his toes all the way to his slicked-back hair. He didn't know what got into him the other day, inviting his landlord out as if they were best buddies, pals, bros, what-have-you, but his mouth had definitely gotten ahead of his brain. It was a problem sometimes, but up until now, it had never actively gotten him into trouble. Up until now, the worst trouble he'd been in was detention after school for shooting spitballs at the music teacher. In fourth grade.

 

He took a swig of his beer and nearly choked when the door opened and the crowd of dockworkers abruptly stopped talking.

 

Whoever it was wasn't tall enough to be seen over the bulky shoulders of the crowd lurking around the entrance, but their reactions of stunned silence gave him a sneaking suspicion and, sure enough, once they scattered like roaches, they revealed a very uncomfortable-looking Mr. Gold standing on the threshold and scanning the place for, well, probably Belle.

 

He was wearing the purple shirt. The one with the thin stripes not the dark, wide ones and David mentally slapped himself for knowing that Mr. Gold even had _one_ purple shirt let alone two and the difference between them. Either way, the man was definitely over-dressed in his impeccable wool suit and a silk tie with a knot nearly as wide as his head.

 

David raised his beer in salute once Gold noticed him and, to his utter dismay, started toward him. Usually when Mr. Gold strode toward you with that cane in his hand and a fierce look on his face it meant one of two things: your rent was due — _now_ ; or, worse, your rent was due — _yesterday_. However, now that David understood him better, or at least, he thought he did, he suspected that the pensive look displayed over his features were covering up sheer nerves. He wondered if a drink would loosen the man up.

 

Apparently, Gold had the same thought as he scanned the display shelf behind the bartender with a doubtful look. “Whiskey,” he said, hoarsely. “Make it a double.”

 

David suspected, from the strain in his voice, that it took a great deal of willpower for Gold to refrain from threatening the bartender with eviction. He leaned against the bar in what he hoped was a casual and relaxed manner, which was hard to do when you had the town beast as your drinking buddy. He angled himself so that he had one eye on the door and another on Gold and he felt a headache forming behind his left temple as a result.

 

The dockworkers had sidled back around the dartboard once more and, even though a few looked like they might accidentally throw a few darts in their general direction, the atmosphere had gone back to tragically boisterous as they drank away a week's worth of stress. David checked his watch, anxiously tapping it with a finger; there was still no sign of Mary Margaret. He hoped she didn't cancel otherwise he'd be stuck all night babysitt—

 

“You _did_ say nine o'clock,” Mr. Gold asked him over the rim of his tumbler.

 

“Yeah. Well, I don't know exactly when they were supposed to be here because I couldn't hear that part, but nine is a good time to be here. Why do you ask?”

 

“No reason. I wasn't anticipating waiting long. I'm not used to this, this...” he gestured helplessly with his glass.

 

“This?” David prompted.

 

“Socializing.”

 

“Well, if you'll excuse me, Mr. Gold you'd know that standing next to someone in a bar is hardly socializing at its finest.”

 

“I haven't had much practice at it,” he confessed, looking into his half-drunk glass as if it was the most interesting thing in the world.

 

“You'll get better at it,” he said with some doubtfulness. “Especially if you get together with Belle,” he added, trying to bolster the man's confidence.

 

Gold looked at him with open astonishment. “I don't expect to get together with Belle,” he said with some exasperation. As if it was the most obvious thing in the world that Belle French was too good for him. “She wouldn't have the likes of me,” he said in a low voice.

 

David was confused. “Then, why are you here?”

 

Mr. Gold sipped his drink, looking away. David didn't know why Gold even bothered showing up if he had already decided that he didn't have a chance. Well, he admitted to himself, he probably _didn't_ have a chance when you got right down to it. Maybe it was the challenge of trying to obtain Belle that appealed to a man like Gold, or maybe he genuinely liked her, David couldn't say and he certainly wasn't asking.

 

“So, you genuinely like Belle?”

 

Shit.

 

Gold looked at him out of the corner of his eye and gave him a wry smile. “Belle is very... likable.”

 

“She is,” David agreed, thinking of Mary Margaret and her dimples. He downed the rest of his beer and slammed the mug on the bar and ordering another before he did something stupid like deciding to help Mr. Gold on his quest.

 

“You gotta plan then?”

 

Shit!

 

Gold turned his full attention onto him and David remembered exactly why it was that he should have kept his mouth shut. The man had a way of staring at you that made you want to rip your own tongue out and hand it over to him as an hors d'oeuvre.

 

But there was a glint of interest in his eyes that made David feel as if he had the upper hand. Slightly.

 

“I told you. I have no intention of pursuing Belle French.”

 

“Intent is meaningless, Mr. Gold.”

 

Gold raised an eyebrow, “That's the most intelligent thing I've heard you say.”

 

David blinked. “Thank you?”

 

“What would you suggest, Mr. Nolan?” Gold asked. “How would you go about wooing Miss French if you were me?”

 

David's mouth opened but the usual platitude of “be yourself” didn't seem to fit well in this situation. Be yourself when everyone in town hated and feared you? He racked his brain for something to say. “Um... You could try being nice...”

 

Gold raised an eyebrow.

 

“...to her _father_ ,” he finished.

 

Gold smirked, flashing his gold tooth, and turned away. “Not likely.”

 

“Well then—“

 

David's next suggestion was cut off when the door opened again and this time the reaction of the men near the entrance was raucous. It had to be... David strained, casually, to see who it was and, yes, it was Ruby. Which meant that short person behind her had to be Mary Margaret and the even shorter person behind Mary Margaret would be Belle. He stood up straight, thought better about it, then leaned back, elbow on the bar, beer in hand. Cool. He glanced back at Mr. Gold debating whether this merited an nudge to the ribs – nothing that would be considered assault, mind you – and realized that Gold was already well aware of the ladies' presence.

 

Gold was on high alert. Standing stiffly and gasping for air, the man looked like an overwrought goldfish before he pulled himself together and his face once more became impassive and disinterested. David realized then that the man was completely hopeless and it made him feel...

 

_Fantastic_!

 

David felt a smile crawl on his face at the thought of, well, no matter how badly he bombed tonight at least he wasn't this pathetic. Anything would be better than hunching over his drink with a hangdog look, not even daring to look at his love in the face.

 

And what a face it was, he thought. Mary Margaret looked absolutely stunning. Very _pretty_ and... and _clean_. He debated whether to make his move now or if it would be too presumptuous. Better let them settle before moseying his way over. Oh! He could buy them drinks! That would be fun and they would talk to him afterwards. Mary Margaret is always polite when you gave her something. Not that he would know that having never actually bought her anything before. But drinks were a good start.

 

He called the bartender over to do just that but was disgruntled when he was told that someone had already gotten ahead of him. Mr. Gold was smirking again. Sly, old dog.

 

Fine. So he'd been beaten to the punch, that was no big deal. He'd buy them another round and he'd even bring them himself, once he knew what they were having. Mr. Gold may be able to buy the bar; in fact, he did, in all actuality, own the place, but that didn't count in matters of the heart. He didn't own Belle.

 

He was down to the dregs of his beer, which were now warm and bitter by now so he set the mug on the bar shaking his head to the barkeep to signal that he wasn't ready for another round.

 

By this time Mr. Gold had turned towards the bar and sat down not even looking at Belle. No, that wasn't right, David realized. He _was_ looking at her out of the corner of his eye but not directly, as if he couldn't look straight at her lest he burn his retinas, but he _wanted_ to burn them right out of their sockets and only deeply embedded self-preservation was keeping him from doing just that.

 

“Tell me,” David said, leaning a bit so his voice wouldn't be overheard. “If you have no interest in pursuing a relationship with Belle then why are you even here?”

 

“I thought we had a date,” Mr. Gold said, much louder and with a smirk, causing the longshoreman next to him nearly spit out his drink. He glanced at Gold, then at David, who held up his hands and waved them in the universal sign of “Not like that.” The man gave them a disgusted look and scooted his stool over a few inches.

 

David would have been insulted if he wasn't trying to keep from laughing.

 

“So why come?” he asked when he recovered himself.

 

“She's...” Gold trailed off, unable to finish the thought. Now he was looking at the shelves of liquor. No, he was looking at Belle's reflection in the mirror lining the wall. In it he could watch as she chatted with her friends. Belle seemed to be enjoying herself.

 

“Everything,” David supplied as he watched Mary Margaret laugh over the rim of a lurid pink drink in a too wide glass. His heart swelled just looking at her and if Mr. No First Name Gold felt even a teeny tiny amount what he felt for Mary Margaret, then, well, the man was stuck wasn't he?

 

“Yes.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Gold smiled bitterly. “She's everything. Very succinctly put, Mr. Nolan.” He'd finished his whiskey and had one hand on his cane, obviously preparing to leave.

 

“You're _leaving_?” David asked. “You haven't even talked to her yet.”

 

“I'm not one to delude myself for very long. I like Belle French. A lot, in fact. But I have nothing to offer her and, to be frank, we both know she can do better.” He pulled out his wallet and in an uncharacteristic show of generosity, put enough money on the bar to pay for his whiskey, David's beers, the round of drinks, and a tip. He glanced back at the women quickly. “We both know I couldn't pay her to date me and I wouldn't insult her by offering.”

 

This evening was not going how David expected. He was sort of expecting Gold to tag along and be a general nuisance while he swooped down on Mary Margaret and made polite small talk, which hopefully, eventually, led to something more substantial along the lines of a horizontal nature. He did not take into account Gold's crippling self-doubt. He bent his head down, scratching the nape of his neck and surreptitiously looked back at Belle. Who was looking back with curiosity.

 

He whipped his head around.

 

“She's staring at you,” he whispered, conspiratorially.

 

Gold stiffened. “You're lying.”

 

David was affronted. “I _never_ lie. She's looking this way.”

 

Gold scraped the nail of his thumb over a particularly bumpy part of the bar top. David hoped it wasn't anything too disgusting.

 

After a moment Gold realized what he was doing and stopped. “The place is filthy,” he said by way of explanation. He cleared his throat. “Was she— was she smiling?”

 

“Smiling?” He couldn't remember what Belle was doing other than just watching them watch _them_. What was a good answer? Yes or no? Why was Gold being so difficult? “I... yes?”

 

“She has a lovely smile,” he replied with a dopey look on his face.

 

O-o-okay. David didn't know what to make of this new, sappy version of Mr. Gold. The one who all-of-a-sudden _told_ him things that didn't begin with “Rent” and end with “is due.” He couldn't reconcile what he knew about the man versus what he was learning and he felt his brain beginning to smoke from the effort.

 

Slowly, they turned around; David holding up his empty mug in salute. The girls waved back at first; Mary Margaret shyly beaming at him and he felt a flight of butterflies take off somewhere near his spleen. He was pleased with himself for about two seconds until Ruby and Mary Margaret noticed Mr. Gold next to him and like that, their bright smiles were replaced with looks of appalled horror and they huddled together whispering to themselves over the fact that their landlord was out at night and had not, in fact, turned into a bat. Probably. David could only guess at what they were saying, but he had a feeling it wasn't going to go well for him if he hung around Gold for much longer. But he couldn't just abandon the man. Could he? No. He invited him to the Rabbit Hole so he had to stick with the guy.

 

To her credit and David's astonishment, Belle didn't join the group gossip section, she kept to herself and didn't back down, still staring at Gold with interest, looking as if she was about to come over but wasn't yet drunk enough to do so. She absentmindedly licked her bottom lip and then bit it ever so slightly and what is the deal with that, David wondered. How did women _know_ to do that? Were there actual courses for women on how to drive men crazy? Sure enough, he could hear Gold curse under his breath. At least, he thought it was a curse. It wasn't English whatever it was. It must have been Gaelic or... something.

 

Gold's hands were white-knuckled over his cane and David feared that he was going to have a coronary with the way his face turned red and his hands started shaking, but the man recovered, glancing quickly from side to side. David assumed it was to determine who was the actual recipient of Belle's lip biting, but he had a feeling that it was directed at them. More specifically, at _Gold_ and that was a thing that was very interesting but he still didn't want to know it.

 

Gold didn't make a move. David suspected he  _couldn't_ move even if you set him on fire. After a moment of watching Mr. Gold do nothing but stand there (he had completely ceased functioning) Belle's shoulders dropped slightly and she turned away with some embarrassment. She sipped her beer quietly and didn't look back.

 

Gold blew it. 

 

Well, what did he expect, the man was hopeless.

 

They eyed each other warily. David nudged him in the ribs and Gold whacked him on the calf with his cane in retaliation.

 

“Tell you what,” David said, doing his best not to cry from the pain lacing through his leg. “You go wash your hands before you get some flesh eating bacteria. I'll get their next round and you can help me bring the drinks over.”

 

Gold seemed to be thinking about it before shaking his head. “No. You go have... _fun_ ,” he said with a smirk. “I don't believe I'd be very welcome.”

 

David didn't know what the matter was; Belle had _definitely_ showed some interest. Gold just needed to have some courage. “Really? That's it?”

 

Mr. Gold turned sharply, his gold tooth glinting in the dim lighting of the bar, and David felt an icy finger of fear run down his back.

 

“I just wanted to see her,” Gold said in a low tone so David had to bend over to hear him. “It's not something I'd like known. I don't want her getting the wrong idea and I also don't want anyone else in town to get any ideas and if you even so much as breath a word of this to _anyone_ other than your _priest_ then you'll find yourself in a very bad position.”

 

“I'm not Catholic,” David said, weakly.

 

“Then we've got an understanding, Mr. Nolan?” Gold said, both hands on his cane as if ready to beat him across the head if he said no.

 

David blinked and wondered just how drunk he was. But he could see Gold's point. Being known as the sweetheart of the most powerful man in town would bring a certain burden that would be difficult to take on. There were some people who would take advantage of that and others who would no doubt shun her by association.

 

He felt a smack against the back of his legs. Gold had hit him with his cane. Again.

 

“What?”

 

“Go over there. You're obviously infatuated with one of those ladies over there; you've been staring all evening. It's not Belle French, I know that, and Ruby Lucas would eat you alive, so it must be Miss Blanchard.”

 

David looked at him incredulously. The turn around between love-sick puppy to ruthless matchmaker was impressive and he felt grossly insulted that Gold thought that he needed help when _he_ was the one who nearly drooled on his custom-made, Italian leather shoes when Belle looked his way.

 

He nevertheless took the opportunity to leave the man to his own fate and seize his own by the horns. Or maybe it was seize it by the gills? Either way, as he approached Mary Margaret her face lit up as if he was a knight coming to her rescue and he felt as if he could conquer anything- even Mr. Gold. Which, he supposed, he had. In a way.

 

David glanced up from her lovely face briefly to see Mr. Gold heading towards the door. He stopped just before leaving and turned towards them. He gave a short nod with a half smile and a very faint thumbs up. David returned it with enthusiasm before returning his attention to Mary Margaret and her fascinating account of her upcoming unit on vertebrates.

 

He was jostled at the elbow by Belle.

 

“Was Mr. Gold with you?” she asked, looking at the door as if she expected him to come back in.

 

“Um...” Well, there was no denying it. “Yes, he was.”

 

“Oh!” She smiled ruefully at him. “I was hoping to get to speak with him.”

 

Three sets of eyes turned to look at her and David swore that she flushed but it may have been the alcohol she'd imbibed.

 

“ _Really_?” Mary Margaret asked.

 

“Yes. About a donation to the library,” she said.

 

Ruby snorted. “You expect him to give you a donation?”

 

Belle definitely flushed. “No. I just wanted to ask him about it. Do you often come here with him, David?”

 

“No. This was probably the first and the last time,” he said truthfully.

 

She chewed her lip in thought and David _knew_ that they definitely gave classes because how could this bit of lip biting say something completely different than the lip biting from before, but it _did_.

 

“Maybe I'll ask him if I run into him in town,” she said quietly.

 

“You should,” David said, already forgetting it as he lost himself in Mary Margaret's eyes. They were a the most beautiful hazely-greeny he'd ever seen. He was glad to be close enough to know that now. “He seems to really like... books.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which we come to the very expected and slightly unsatisfying conclusion of the story.

 

When David walked into the Rabbit Hole and saw Mr. Gold waiting by the bar he very nearly did an about face and marched right back out but he also had a date with Mary Margaret and he wasn't going to miss it come Hell or Mr. Gold.

 

Okay, well, it wasn't a _date_ date since she was meeting her friends, but he was definitely included when they made plans. He even saved the group text as proof, which he looked at occasionally as it was his first official communication from Mary Margaret — even if it had four other people included.

 

He'd hoped to maybe get her alone for a bit and ask her out properly, but that wasn't going to happen if Mr. Gold expected to hang out with him all night. He groaned to himself. He was going to be stuck with the guy all night, wasn't he?

 

He gave a half-hearted wave as he strode over to the bar, shouldering past the perimeter of burly men in their finest plaid shirts. The man was standing by himself, no doubt pleased with himself, while everyone else gave him a wide berth — there had to be at least three clear feet of space around him.

 

“Hey,” Mr. Gold said once he'd reached the bar.

 

“Hey. I didn't expect to see you back,” David opened with.

 

“Well, I'd heard that there was another girls' night planned.”

 

“And you were going to join it,” David teased, taking note of his purple shirt with the wide stripes and another fat tie. _And_ a vest. Gold was pulling out all the stops tonight.

 

“I heard _you_ were guest of honor,” he retorted with a sneer.

 

Ouch.

 

Gold sipped his whiskey. “I had nothing else to do,” he admitted, finally.

 

Oh. David sighed. “Well, you're welcome to join us if you want,” he said paying no attention to the banshee inside his head screaming at him to ABORT! ABORT! ABORT!

 

Gold smirked. “You're a terrible liar. I'll just..”

 

“Hover? Creep? Stalk?” David supplied, helpfully.

 

The smirk left Gold's face. “No.”

 

Great, now he felt like a jerk. “It's fine. You can hang out with us. Maybe you'll even loosen up enough to enjoy yourself.”

 

The corner of Gold's mouth quirked up a fraction of an inch. “Doubtful.”

 

They didn't have to wait long before Mary Margaret and Ruby walked in, this time with Ariel following behind, beaming and chatting as if they were already having the time of their lives. There was no sign of Belle.

 

David gave him the side-eyes as he waved at the girls. The man was wearing his best Indifferent Bastard face and only the slight press of his lips betrayed how stressed the man was.

 

He did have enough presence of mind to at least ask, “Where's Belle?”

 

Mary Margaret frowned a bit looking at Mr. Gold. “She said she wasn't feeling well.”

 

“That's too bad,” David said, holding up a finger to signal the bartender. “Anything serious?”

 

“No, you know how Belle is,” she said by way of explanation.

 

David didn't know how Belle was, but he wasn't going to press the matter any further. She wasn't here was the main point. He gave a one-armed shrug at Mr. Gold and moved on to the more important business of how to transfer Mary Margaret's lipstick to his own lips before the night was over.

 

“I'll call it a night then,” Mr. Gold said after downing his drink.

 

David didn't know how the man could do that. He once tried to down a snifter of brandy — he'd seen it done in a movie once — but nearly passed out after choking on the stuff. Perhaps Mr. Gold's throat was gold-plated as well as his tooth?

 

“That's so odd,” Ruby said, watching Gold retreat out into the night.

 

“What?” David asked. “That he's out for a drink?” _With me_ , he stopped himself from saying at the last minute.

 

“No, it's just Belle was also asking about him the other night, too.” Her eyes lit up. “You don't suppose they...” She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

 

David shook his head. “Never happen.”

 

“Yeah.” Ruby agreed. “That would be all kinds of wrong.”

 

David looked down into his drink, feeling bad for not agreeing. Fifteen minutes later, just as he was building up the courage to ask Mary Margaret out on a proper date, he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He dug it out with an apologetic look and flipped it open to see a waiting text from an unknown number.

 

“I heard MM say that she wanted to go to the Cary Grant double feature playing next week. Just FYI.”

 

He quickly texted back, “You should go see if Belle needs anything.”

 

He was about to pocket it when it buzzed again. This time it was a picture of Mr. Gold himself holding a to go bag from Granny's and standing outside Belle's apartment building. “Already there.”

 

David didn't even register the weirdness of Mr. Gold sending him a selfie; he understood a challenge when he saw it. He flipped his phone shut and turned to Mary Margaret with determination. If Mr. Gold could do the brave thing then so could he.

 

Five minutes after David had successfully asked Mary Margaret out on a real date, Mr. Gold had managed the steep steps leading up to Belle French's apartment. He stood there, panting, for another full minute, cursing his age and his bum leg before knocking on her door. He was about to change his life irrevocably, for good or bad — he hoped it was for good — and he needed to take the time to gather his courage. He thought this was the worst idea he'd ever had. Possibly. It could also be the best idea and the horrible part was he'd never know which one it was if he walked away.

  
He took a deep breath, shifting on his feet to gain balance, lifted a shaking hand and knocked on the door.

 

 

 

 


End file.
